Disparate Destinies
by shadeshark
Summary: Over the course of RE4, a few events change, and the game's relationships develop rather differently. Slash, nonexplicit, Kennedy and Krauser. Rating for language and violence.
1. Imbalance

All characters and settings used are the property of Capcom. I make no claim or profit, and am doing this entirely without permission.

Please note: this involves the growth of a slash pairing, which means a male/male romantic relationship. If this bothers you, you're welcome to read something else. However, the rating is entirely for language and violence. No smut, people: sorry.

1. Imbalance

Most things were a simple matter of balance.

This, for example. He spun the knife around, almost careless, as though he hadn't spent half an hour getting the sweep honed just the way he wanted it.

Things were getting out of hand fast. He wasn't in with Saddler, he never had been, and he wasn't getting any deeper. He was getting the dirty work done and spilling interesting details, sure, but getting nowhere. And he knew the look Saddler was starting to get around him. That was the look right when you heard, "he's outlived his usefulness."

So Saddler had picked up news from him. He'd gotten his own back: tatters and scraps of the plagas story, hints how they communicated, and lots of first-hand experience. He grinned, flexing his hand. Oh, yes, and wasn't that. . . well, a bitch. He'd read sci-fi as a kid, and when the villain replaced your missing hand with a robot one, you were getting strangled by your own arm soon. Having your arm amped was probably the same deal.

So why hadn't Saddler taken him out already? He considered, watching the knife point describe a circle. Probably didn't want to freak out the rest of the plagas—good little drones, but excitable.

Or Saddler was the worried one, less happy about Kennedy poking around than he let on.

Oops. Not supposed to know about Kennedy yet. He grinned. There was a brief, answering flex from just inside his ribs. Yeah, their little secret. So far. If the leech wanted to live. Cause it sure wasn't gonna make it outside his body.

Yeah, Kennedy was screwed. In about a day and a half he'd be getting. . . what had Luis said. . . "a permanent addition to his nervous system," a rider hooked straight into his brain. And then it'd be Saddler twitching his strings, and the world would be out one hero.

"Gotta admit, kinda curious what he's gonna turn into." Not like his syringe was marked "ARM" in giant letters, or the egg had little biceps. And his plaga wasn't the weird one. He'd taken the pictures of what was left of Mendez. Good on Kennedy. Too bad he was gonna sprout chitin and start cringing his way to Saddler soon.

Thing was, his own way out wasn't looking so clear. He didn't to throw a mission because Saddler looked at him funny. He'd bluffed or bashed through worse before, and he wasn't obviously expendable right now, right? He had a little time.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew Saddler had some backup plan for him. He could give his plaga the arm command without saying anything. If that didn't mean there were new little neural paths monitoring his brain, waiting for the order to overrun him, what did? Sera had said it missed the stage in its development for that, but then again, Sera was an assmunch. What'd he know about these things, really? Him and his talk about symbiosis. . . and didn't he hate that word, get flashes of him and his arm singing kumbaya. Balance was weighted in his favor, though. If he died, it died. And he'd gotten the idea that his plaga was a survival junkie.

"So. . ." he ran his fingertips across the knife's plunge line, "what do you think?" The plaga was silent. It usually was when he remembered who needed who more.

Thing was, if Kennedy was there shaking things up, Saddler wasn't concentrating on the little questions. Like how one Jack Krauser'd been so easily available for hire and, lucky Saddler, willing to accept a freakish little brain-eating squid-thing into his body, and, holy Jesus was Saddler rolling the sixes, prepared to stick around and do grunt work.

Now, if Saddler tossed the kid into a pit for a day and a half, he'd have time to wonder. Then Jack'd be sent on a quick visit to Salazar, and end up strung up in the dungeon with his eyeballs gone and Ramon ringing the dinner bell. 'Cept if Leon would just keep scooting around like his ass was on fire, Saddler would stay scrambling to ready the death traps and move the troops, and he could poke around a bit, just see what he could find.

He sheathed the knife. Yeah. Things might work out better that way.


	2. Tension

All characters and settings are property of Capcom. I make neither claims nor profit. This has been written without permission.

Continuing the snapshot theme, this will be done primarily in glimpses, like the cutscenes within the game (although hopefully the reader will not need to make reflex saves.)

2. Tension

Krauser never really liked the TMP.

Oh, he'll use it—he'll use anything—but it isn't the same as knife or bow. He's been called a traditionalist, but it's not their simplicity. The knife is simple, but it's more deadly and even more frequently underestimated. And it lets him get in close, lets him feel the fight and the emptiness of missing and the shock of strikes connecting.

The bow is definitely not simple. The bow is pure tension. It has to be in perfect condition, the string pristine, the arrow shafts free of even the tiniest crack, or it'll blow up in his face. He can feel when he's got it right, when he's shooting instinctively. He knows the way it seems to draw itself, with him just bracing, roll of muscle in his shoulder and tip of his arm to keep the string from hitting his wrist. Guns are mechanical. The bow is almost alive.

He thought of Ada as like the bow, once, as a delicate balance of forces always prepared for an explosive attack. He thinks differently now. She's more like one of those knife-edged fan things: pretty, and then you pick it up and try to fight with it and lay your own flesh open just before the enemy whallops you one.

He listens to the rising sound of gunfire, looks into the courtyard far below. Some cultists chanting their hopeful "death-is-living" shtick are learning about its fundamental inaccuracy. He grins. Leon shatters a skull with one kick and lands again on the bloodstained floor, checking all sides of him before answering his radio. Krauser cups his chin in his palm and watches. Leon moves across the floor as he speaks, motioning sharply with one hand. He pauses, shifting his weight, checking his pistol in its holster.

He doesn't know Krauser's right there, the castle's solitary gargoyle, a couple hundred feet above his head. And he doesn't have to learn. He's a perfect target, staying out where he can see all the exits like that: all Krauser will have to do is pull a pin, drop a grenade, and hope there's rain coming so Salazar doesn't bitch endlessly about the agent all over his terrace.

Krauser considers, tossing the grenade up and down. The moment draws out.

Then an approaching cultist complete with spiked shield pokes his head through the door, and Salazar apparently says the wrong thing, and Leon moves straight from inaction into action with dizzying suddenness. There's the bark of shotgun, the cultist staggers back from the pieces of his shield, and Leon shoots his kneecaps out. He's on him immediately, taking his head off with the knife in what even Krauser thinks might be kinda an extreme reaction.

Kinda. But he more approves. And he puts the grenade back on his belt and watches Kennedy pivot again, sweeping the courtyard suspiciously. Then he's gone, launching himself into the next room, dead set on his mission.

Yeah. Krauser's always had a thing about the tension weapons.


	3. Apart

Resident Evil, characters, and properties still fail to be mine. They're Capcom's, they're used without permission, and this ain't getting me any richer.

Cutscenes mode continues; however, we're getting a little more in-depth.

3. Apart

"Leon! Help!"

He shook his head. Kid had a set of lungs on her. He pushed the door open. She turned, looking hopefully towards the door and jerking at her bonds. Only Salazar. Well, considering how many traps he had, she had to run into one. And this one didn't make her look too stupid. Some of his traps. . . say that one where the victim had to turn the light on and off three times. . . Crazy fucking smurf.

"Quiet down," he said. "You're gonna attract all sorts of things. You think the cultists are the only creatures down here?"

"What are you doing?" Big, hopeful eyes, like maybe this time he'd say "rescue you!"

No. He glanced at the door behind him. "Getting ready to do some backtracking."

"Wanna help me out?"

He watched without reply as she resumed working at the metal around her wrists, quietly this time. Much better. He stepped outside and yanked the door shut. All right. Luis Sera was undoubtedly here, but he knew his way around and could be anywhere. Finding Kennedy, though. . . he knew where the man was and where he was going. Piece of cake. He'd get ahead of Kennedy, pull an intercept on Sera, and get the sample.

He was barely four corridors away when he heard the soft sound of a door opening. Shit. He moved into the shadows fast. Best if he could just slip past whoever, or whatever, was there.

Nothing stirred. He swung into a small storage room, scanned it, moved into the next hallway. Someone was playing games. Kennedy couldn't have gotten here yet. Sera.

Or—

He moved quick as thought, finding the darkest shadow and lunging for it. She came out in a ribbon of movement, vaulting ahead of his knife point, and came up with empty hands.

"Red's a shitty color for this," he offered. "Really limits you."

"I'm not here to fight with you." Her gaze flicked over his arm dismissively.

"Really? Gotten hung up on something Kennedy missed? Need me to come bash it for you?"

"He's the problem." Before he could thank her for brightening his day and head off to intercept, she continued, "his parasite's growth is accelerating. Saddler will take him over."

Oh, Kennedy hadn't lost it yet. "Won't that be a pity." He already knew her point, but he also knew her history and he just couldn't resist. "But it's not like we need him."

She didn't even blink. "Don't be ridiculous. We could lose the sample, Sera, and our distraction all at once."

He abandoned the game with a shrug. "So you're here to make the reasonable suggestion. You want me to track down the sample while you babysit."

"Kennedy's keeping everyone's attention from the plagas." Another glance at his arm. And he knew, sure as he knew they were tied in the sample-collection game, that if Leon died, news of his plaga would be spread to all the wrong people. Wesker's ban or not.

"You want me to throw my game for your boytoy? You were sent to help in the first place."

"Can his plaga receive the treatments yours did?"

"Wohoa!" He cut off a laugh. Best not to really piss her off, but--"you want to love him despite his inner squid. Oh, that's priceless." He shook his head slowly in the face of her ice. "Mine's a special case. I doubt Saddler had many of them produced."

"You took pills to prevent it from taking over. I'll trade you the third sample for them." Dead serious. "We just need to delay the takeover until he can remove his plaga."

He thought fast. So long as Leon got the plaga out after modifying it, Saddler wouldn't have to know he'd interfered. "Give me the sample now." One delicate brow began to lift. "Look, Wong, I'm a mercenary. You give me the job, you pay me."

She balked. He'd never thought he'd get to see that, Ada rattled. "How soon will you treat him?"

"Always carry them on me." He extended one hand, pulling the pill bottle from his pocket and rattling it in the other. She slapped the vial into his hand. He grinned. "Pleasure dealing with you. Have fun finding Sera first."

"Oh, I will." She offered a smug little smirk and vanished with a few parting gleams and flickers. Red really was a shitty color for this sort of thing.

4. Junction

So Kennedy had to go through the sewers. He knew those. He crossed over a recently made hidden passageway and found a grate overlooking a long, stone hallway. The bark of shotgun fire rolled off the walls again. Hmm. Maybe he should let Kennedy cool off a bit.

The agent passed under his vantage point a few moments later, limping slightly and testing his hand. He slowed, looking around, then checked the ceiling. The dim light caused his hair and skin to almost glow, making him look like a statue or something. It was. . . actually, that was kinda creepy. There was a long moment while the agent looked up, trying to see something through the dark and the distance. Then Kennedy moved to scope the corner, headed back the way he came. Krauser waited until he was around the corner and dropped, moving in close to the wall. "I'm right here."

"Krauser?" Kennedy came back, near the opposite wall, gawping. He recovered quickly. The shotgun stayed lowered but ready. "I heard you were-" and then a silence while he could almost hear the gears turning. Kennedy was often hard to read, but that look was pure suspicion.

"What, in that helicopter crash?" Throw some history out, get him thinking about the past a little and less about the situation. "Is that what they told you? But here I am, lucky for you. Pesky little butterfly told me you were in deep shit. How's the daddy thing working out for you?"

"What?" Yep, that was Kennedy being derailed from his train of thought. Probably just in time.

"Oh, you know. Saddler shows up, gives you a quick poke, next thing you know you're feeling something kicking. Not taking parenting classes, though, are you? Denying his emotional needs, planning to get rid of him. . . never pegged you for a deadbeat, Kennedy."

"You're not a liberal anymore?" Sharp edge to Kennedy's voice. And he was approaching at an angle, chin down a little and shoulders tense. Krauser watched carefully. He wasn't the best at shutting up at the right time, and had to get this right. "Thought it was the. . . parent's right to choose abortion."

"Yours hatched." Too jumpy with the tense discussion to stay put, so he started moving away a little from Kennedy's approach, circling. "It's what they call first-generation now. It's got some of its nerves hooked up with yours, but it's not big enough to reach your spine yet. Once it does, it'll run some feelers into your brain. Then it'll be second-generation, and Saddler will lead you off to this nifty machine he's got. Then Leon Scott Kennedy will no longer be the property of the U.S. government. And Ada'll cry into her wine."

Kennedy's face twisted with familiar anger, and his fingers tightened on his weapon. Krauser knew that one: a Kennedy close to flipping the fuck out. Try another angle. "'Course, if Sera could get his shit together for five minutes at a time, you'd have one fewer problem."

"Sera? He can't help me." Kennedy reversed direction, circling them the other way. And once again with the calculations. Kennedy's the loudest thinker he's ever met.

"Mm, he can't get it out, no. But he does these nifty adaptations on 'em. Got these pills that slows down their development, for one. Might be something you're into."

"So how do you know Sera?" Flash of uncertainty in his eyes, but none of it showed in his voice. It was actually getting to Krauser how well he could read him. Brought back memories, and he couldn't afford to remember friendships now.

"I know everything except where he is right now. Don't care about finding him. That's your little dream. Well, yours and Saddler's."

Kennedy's eyes narrowed just a little, and from the way the shotgun's muzzle began to lift, he was about to kick the Q&A session up a notch. Krauser brought one arm to shield his eyes as he slammed a flash grenade into the floor. He threw himself forward, knocking Kennedy straight into the wall and out of reach of his flying gun, trapping him there with his weight.

His knife blade broke the skin at Kennedy's neck just as he registered the steel point digging just below his xyphoid process. He froze. Kennedy froze.

"Saddler's gonna get off on us killing each other," he said, slow and careful.

"You're working for him. You kidnapped Ashley." Bite to Kennedy's words, and the knife rock-steady against his chest. Whoopsie. Fucked up this one.

"You don't know anything yet, Kennedy." Get him thinking. Get him unsure.

"I know you threw a helpless girl to the plagas—"

"Bullshit!" No, not good to get angry too. "I brought a rich and priveleged woman here, yeah—"

Flare of something close to hate. "Oh, this is about class, is it, comrade?" Nasty weight given to the last word.

He felt his hands clench and saw Leon's jaw tighten. He realized he was leaving bruises on the other man's arm and forced his fingers to relax a bit. Time to put this in perspective. "Leon, what's this village missing? What do you usually find in homes? Old men, yeah, got those. Young men, yep. Young women. What do villages usually get when they've got young men and young women together?"

He saw Kennedy get it, disdain and rage fading into pure horror.

"Yeah. Children. Children are small and fast. They hide, they see shit happen, and if they escape through the woods or get picked up on a road, they'll spill everything. What'd you think happened? Think they've got 'em stashed for a few years, guarding and feeding and excercising them until they're big enough to be hosts? Is Saddler the kind to waste time on that?"

"Aw, shi-" It's the softest exhalation, but then Kennedy's crunched a few more facts and the suspicion's back. "Wait, Krauser, I didn't find any small bodies. Lots of adult skulls and corpses, sure—"

"Yeah, the children just vanished without getting hurt. Nice world you're in there. You're saying you dug through the stashes of corpses? You checked the dumping grounds and the Novistador leftover piles? You—"

"They fed them to the plagas?" Horror to outrage in five seconds. Kennedy was flushing straight to his scalp. Shit. Shit shit shit. Too much information. Last thing he needed was a hero going off on him half-cocked.

"They feed lots of things to the plagas. I'm just guessing." He put aside what he'd seen.

The knife point tapped once against his chest. Having to let that go seemed to piss Leon off more. "So why bring Ashley here?"

Time for the mostly plausible, slightly true pre-decided illusions. "Whole village was sealed tight. Had some friends die trying to get in. Wanted to find out what happened, so I took the risk when they offered a job. You know what that was." Shit, that had sounded kinda rehearsed, hadn't it?

"So you know what's up. Why are you still—" One of the pennies Leon was flipping in his head dropped— "you're here working with Ada."

"With Wong?" He put as much disdain into it as he could, which was actually kinda easy. "Who works with her? I've got my own reasons. Anyway, with Ashley here there's a certain amount of chaos. Saddler's distracted. That's why you and Sera and me and Ensign Redskirt can all dance through the village whenever we please. Couldn't have done it a week and a half ago."

"Dammit." Kennedy's eyes flicked closed for just enough time for him to notice, without the time to cut his throat. Then he felt the man's body relax as he abandoned the "kill Jack" plan. A flicker of tension ran through him. Damn plaga must be twitchy. Kennedy tipped his face up, frowning. "Fine. Back off."

"Sure. But keep your head." He lifted himself up, away from the knife's point, and pulled his blade from Kennedy's bloody skin. He rubbed the drying film of red from his knife and sheathed it as Kennedy headed for his dropped weapon. "Found something you might be able to use."

"Uh, what?" Kennedy glanced at his hands, scooping up the shotgun fast. Krauser felt himself twitch with the urge to dodge, rattled the pill bottle to cover it, and replied, "Sera's little project."

Leon's body language changed, a little, a shade more open as he started to hope. "Why are you helping me?"

"Don't really want Graham to stay here." It was answer enough.

Leon cautiously took the bottle and retreated outside lunging range. "I'll think about it." He kept his eyes locked on Krauser's as he popped the lid and passed two pills back to Jack's palm.

Krauser swallowed them and held up his empty hand: look, Ma, no poison. He'd thought he'd gotten over having to drop some things years ago, said his goodbyes and all, but Kennedy's expression was getting to him. He headed back the way Leon had come.


	4. Eradication

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is the intellectual property of Capcom. I write without profit and without permission.

You know the drill: a scene-by-scene of Leon's evolving trip through the events of RE4, with a few small changes that steadily grow.

5. Eradication

There was no such thing as a "simple rescue mission," Leon thought as he reloaded. Just a day of hell followed by a few more of insanity. He glanced around the pleasant-looking garden maze and tried a left.

Another thorn in his side. First Ada, no matter how non-hostile she seemed, and now Jack. (And maybe Luis Sera wasn't on the level with him either.) Couldn't he get a friend who didn't blow up in his face? Next Claire Redfield would show up as new CEO of Umbrella.

On automatic, he cocked the rifle, pinpointed the huffing of breath, and knocked the plaga-infested wolf to the ground. He kicked the wounded creature away as it flailed at him and finished it off.

That whole freakish interview had shaken him. Hearing a friend's voice had made the tunnel feel safer, until the "dead guy talking" thing kicked him in the gut. And it had been good having someone with him who could help him out. Having Ashley with him was sometimes worse than being alone, because if he got himself killed, what would happen to her?

Now, Ada. Definite Umbrella ties there. Krauser denied working with her, whatever that was worth. The evidence did support him. If they were allies, Ada would have helped Jack keep his "I'm dead" cover. Unless Krauser meant to silence him. He left the maze again and started up the stairs towards the balcony.

It almost didn't hurt at first. The plaga started moving, uncurling perhaps, shoving inside him. Through the gagging, he felt a sudden stabbing sensation. He arched his back away from it. Krauser'd said it was trying to get to his spine. Felt close. And to get there, it was pushing—he coughed wetly and watched blood splatter over the floor—against some organ not meant for that. The spasm passed. He braced his hand against the floor and palmed the pill bottle.

Trust, or not? What had been Krauser's style? He'd always just grabbed for the upper hand and pushed for the kill. Poison? He tried to picture Jack drugging someone. Nope.

The real question: was Jack Krauser working for Saddler? And immediately: no. Krauser'd told him once that he sorta sympathized with the communists, for God's sake. He'd probably opposed Saddler the moment he saw the infected village. He swallowed two pills dry, willing himself not to bring them back up, and shoved back up to his feet. Nothing happened for a long few minutes, and then the burning sensation in his gut started to fade.

He and Jack'd had each other's backs once. Even now, some part of him wanted to trust him again. Well, he'd trust that Krauser was trying to use him.

6. Harsh

Thing about heroes: they died.

Sad ugly truth. Krauser was kind of used to those, but this one seemed to have it in for him personally. He drew his knife and tested the edge. You saw a lot of heroes, fighting as a mercenary. You killed some of 'em, too. Which was maybe the reason for the knife: you knew you had a challenge, knew this was gonna be fun. Then it didn't seem to cost so much.

It was getting on his nerves, how he was acting, standing around by the corpse of some garador unable to shake this.

He might have to fight Kennedy. And if it were him or the Secret Service straight-edger, cross one Leon Kennedy off the roll call. Could be fun. He was almost as quick with the knife as Krauser, and apparently remembered their sparring matches all too well. Could be hella interesting fight, maybe it was even worth—the thought burned him before he'd even finished it.

He thunked his head on the wall. He was an idiot. Cause it was starting to seem like cutting Kennedy open, after all that fighting he'd done? Was gonna blow.

But that's what heroes did. They ran into danger and they _bled_ and they saved the girl and they fought and they _died_. Screw the odds of one Jack Krauser wasting Kennedy: the man was heading up against Saddler. Krauser didn't know how much of a fight Saddler could be, but his plaga started throwing off the danger signals if the old guy so much as frowned.

He'd left two years ago before Kennedy could die like the rest of the good guys he knew. He slammed the toe of his boot into a rusted water trough, sending water flooding over the floor. It flowed against the corpse of the garador and curled under its bulk. Krauser watched with some satisfaction as it dissolved the orange pool around the stiffened body. The red over the blades of one hand, Kennedy's blood, vanished in the general mud. That was even better. He'd patch up his wounds and hide his weakness, and nobody besides him and Jack would know how much he'd bled down here in the dark. They'd just keep thinking Leon was invulnerable.

He turned his back on the dead garador. And he tried, just for a few seconds, to see what the world was like if he agreed.

6. Softened

"So he didn't hurt you?" He had to ask it one more time. Krauser's tone had been dangerously bitter.

"No." Ashley summarized the story they'd just sorted out. "I leave class, I go to drop my books off at the car, I head back towards the elevator, he's in there, and it goes to the basement and he hauls me out. I get ready to scream, there's duct tape. He hauls me out past one of the bodyguards, who's on the ground. I get my phone out to turn it on so they can track me, and he cuts it in half and throws me in the van. Well, sort of tosses."

"He didn't threaten you?"

"The lummox didn't even look at me most of the time." He knew it rankled to be ignored and feel weak. She'd been brave enough to keep resisting the plaga and keep putting herself in danger with him, and that's all he can ask for.

He didn't need an ally to have his back, so all he'd have to watch would be his own half of the world. He didn't need the knowledge that he could call a break and have someone else do the guarding. He didn't need someone to charge in with him or cover him on a retreat. He didn't need to have someone that just wasn't going to get hauled off anywhere. Memories be damned. That wasn't now, and he could do this.

He smiled. "We're doing great, Ashley. We're gonna get these things out."

7. Slide

"Ada," I tell myself in a whisper, "get a grip."

I know Krauser's dangerous. But for right now, he's come across to the idea that he shouldn't kill Kennedy yet. Leon's not threatened by him right now, especially with me prepared to move should something go wrong.

Because Krauser's an overaggressive soldier who needs fighting like some veterans need alcohol. He doesn't seem able to care for much else. Certainly I've seen him go sullen after walking in the village, but that could be because he's found nothing to kill there.

He's nothing like Leon.

I finish my note, place my mark on it. It's dangerous, if Leon doesn't have the sense to destroy them. But I trust his intelligence. And he has to be aware that he may have to destroy the girl if her plaga overtakes her.

I can't afford to get close or be seen. I have to keep him at arm's length and have faith in his skills. But I feel that something is getting off-course.


	5. Acceleration

All characters and the setting of this fanfic aren't my intellectual property. They belong to Capcom and are used without permission. No profit is made from this work.

(Thanks for the feedback, both of you; I was indeed starting to wonder if anyone was enjoying this, or if all readers bailed in mortal boredom back at chapter 1.)

8. Shuffling

He knows she's bothered.

It's sort of fun, really. Not half as much fun as straight-up putting an end to personal friction. But it's definitely got its perks. She can usually dance rings around him, but right now? Pampered little elitist can't even start.

He answers his radio. Wesker doesn't talk to him directly often; he can't afford to carry his communicator everywhere. But now they can have their little convo. "Krauser. How goes progress?"

"Not so well. Our cleanest sources for the remaining samples are on the island." He shrugs at Ada. "Saddler's sealed it off."

Wesker skips over that point. "I've been having some trouble getting through."

"Yeah. They've been jamming Kennedy. Probably been looking for stray signals."

Wesker swings back and racks up both points with one hit. "Resolve the collection issues tonight. All loose ends must be tied off."

"We've got four out of five." Keep the tone confident. "I'm not letting the fifth one get away."

"I refer to Kennedy."

Heroes die.

"Yeah? What about him?" He only realizes a moment later he's drawn his knife. He looks over at Ada, who's watching with a blank face, eyes on the blade.

"How has he been evading both Saddler and Miss Wong?"

His hand comes up before Ada can think of moving, knife tucked under only two fingers as he motions for her to wait. "Dunno. I haven't seen much of him. He's got to shepherd the Graham kid everywhere, and I can't afford to be around her."

"Ah, Graham." Wesker hisses air through his teeth, so soft Krauser almost doesn't catch it. "Ada will need to focus on the last sample. You must rely on your unlimited access to the island. Get close to them and neutralize them both."

"Understood." He shuts off communication, still within their five-minute window where it's safe to talk without Saddler's soldiers picking up on their signals, and looks at Ada.

"You know," he says, "it's like a movie. Hero comes in to save the girl, everything gets complicated, spies and secret agents head all over everywhere, lots of guns and explosions. . . damn, I love this job." A tremor runs over her, a checked step for the door; she wants to go out and keep Kennedy moving. "Thing is, it's getting rough." He can't help it; he has to see her face closer, and he moves in. "Pressure's getting on. Everyone's after the good guy."

She stares back, not giving away much, but he saw that tiny flinch. "What are you getting at, Krauser?"

He's getting better at playing this game. He tips his head to one side like he's curious. "Wesker said to clean things up. You know what seems even messier to me than Kennedy somehow surviving? Las Plagas coming back at us later. There's a chance some have already left." She's listening. This is the most seriously she's ever taken him. "Picked up something from Sera. He said he had a project on the island to remove a hatched plaga. Now, you know shit about machinery, right? 'Course. So it makes sense for you to ignore that and focus on the sample, which is what's really important. Me? I'm looking out for Umbrella's long-term interests. Gonna get to the island, see if I can find the project. Take care of loose ends once that's done."

She can get way colder than Leon, that's for sure, and it makes it much harder to tell what she's thinking. Her eyelashes flick down once, sharply, and then back up. And then, suddenly, he's subjected to the most intense look he's ever gotten from her. He knows she's already made her decision, and is floored, trying to guess what that's about.

"So you were friends?" She comes closer, watching his face.

"Yeah. Once." He folds his arms, uncomfortable, and taps the flat of his knife against his bicep.

"Maybe he wasn't being too generous." She turns away. "I'll let you know when I have the sample."

Hunh. Maybe he just landed in Ada's cool book. Screw that. He shrugs at her back and heads out himself.

9. Assembly

I know he's up to something now.

Perhaps Krauser's preparing to reveal his true loyalty to Saddler; perhaps he intends to ransom Leon's life should I be the one to obtain the fifth sample.

What surprises me very much is his failure to put in a bad word about me to Wesker. He was asked a direct question about my resolve, and somehow failed to use the opening. Not because I was there. He is not so subtle.

His face when Wesker brought up Kennedy was as though he'd taken a long-awaited hit. I don't think it's truly Kennedy that reached him. Their friendship has been gone for years. Perhaps he has disliked bringing Graham in, and is hoping Leon might take her home. Most likely, I give him far too much credit, and his real motives are so contorted I can't imagine them.

Whatever he's doing, he seems only to be setting things in place. For now, I'll watch the situation.

10. Red, Green

"Wait!" Leon throws the rifle's butt against his shoulder, resting the gun over the window's edge, and peers into the scope. Behind him, Ashley peers over his shoulder. It's a long shot, but he can make it. He already knows he won't, though.

Jack Krauser is unaware of him, perched on a broken rock, checking over his equipment. Probably gearing up to come try to kill him. Still. He starts to lower the gun, and then he sees a glimmer of red.

He hauls out his binoculars for a better look, expecting Ada with a crackle of hope in the back of his head. But no. There's a cultist coming up behind his former friend. He doesn't even have to think about it. He drops the binocs, aims, and takes the shot.

He doesn't have time to spare to go see if Krauser's ready to tell him anything more about Las Plagas. He reminds himself they're no longer friends.

Maybe he can allow himself a little satisfaction from helping.

11. Acceleration

Balls.

Krauser peers around the rock at the dead cultist. The others are fleeing; naturally, they're off to tell Saddler about this. Only they don't know what happened to the dead one and Saddler will blame him. He throws himself after them, racing across the open space towards the ravine gate before he realizes he's leaving himself open for the sniper. But he's safe; that's gotta be Leon.

He gets two. The third sprouts an adult plaga. He strikes before he realizes it, cutting it free, and it leaps over the next series of rocks and is just gone. He stands in the middle of the ravine, bloodstained and feeling better than he ever could have expected at the shit hitting the fan. Graham, Kennedy, Wong, Saddler, the village—Christ, what a fucking mess. But damned if, right now, he doesn't feel gloriously alive. His fingers twitch in what might be agreement. He's free of Saddler's demands now, like it or not.

Time to get out the war paint and hit the island. Hooah.

12. Redline

They threw her on the floor.

He knows the significance of Saddler's men starting to get hands-on. He suspects what they were thinking, and it's an iron weight in his gut along with the leaden heat of the parasite. He blows the head off a soldier with the shotgun. It barely registers that he's taken another life.

He didn't get to the island quick enough to save her, and Ashley's paying for it. He heads around the corner too fast, and stops at the sight of bodies and blood. And Krauser, pressed up against the wall by the window, red paint jagged over his face, cleaning his knife with a scrap of someone's shirt. So Jack's finally broken into "kill 'em all" mode. He keeps the shotgun ready.

"Thought you'd come this way." Krauser's always been. . . different when he gets like this, but it's much more obvious now, like some safety catch has broken off. He rolls his head back as he looks around the bloody room, confident and self-satisfied.

"What do you want, Krauser?"

"There's a mess up ahead. Big open space, sealed-off doors, lots and lots of mercenaries dug in behind their sandbags, the whole nine yards. You and I are gonna hit it like a meteor. Then we're gonna play a little ourselves, just for the benefit of any onlookers. Then you're gonna go on ahead. . ." he tests the knife's edge, smiling, "and I'm gonna hang back a bit."

"Onlookers?" So Krauser isn't freelance after all.

"Just play along." For a moment, Krauser's looking at him funny. Like he's just ran out of ammunition and Leon's got an extra clip stashed away.

"So where's Ashley?"

"Other side of the holed-up soldiers." Krauser's gotten his balance back. His smirk is nasty, the one that says "I want a fight, any fight, now." "Saw her getting dragged through. Looks unhurt. Not a happy camper."

He feels his own resolve solidify, knows it's showing in the way he looks at the door.

"Yeah." Krauser swings the knife, spins it, sheathes it, and pulls his bow from his shoulder. It's already strung. "Let's do this."

This is what's been missing. On his own, he has to keep firing, and his aim suffers. With someone at his back, the soldiers never get a chance to plan and start circling him, and he can run and breathe and shoot. It feels easy, natural. Jack stays behind and covers him at first, cutting them down with an unhurried air, although once he hits a barrel of fuel and takes down three soldiers and laughs. Leon just aims and fires.

It's when the second wave comes that things change. Neither of them see the crossbowman, not with so many first-generation plagas stumbling around waving bone-tipped tentacles. They're coming back together in the center of the courtyard, a lone fuel barrel standing between them. Leon's reloading, Krauser's approaching, and suddenly there's just explosion. If there weren't a soldier trying to sidle up behind him, Leon would have caught the worst of it; as it is, Krauser's knocked off his feet and Kennedy's slammed into the wall, a dying soldier staring into his eyes.

Krauser's apparently rattled by the explosion. He charges in. Kennedy moves back a bit and lays down covering fire to keep him from getting swarmed. Krauser ducks, kicking a soldier with a shock rod away, and yells, "get the locks open!"

Yeah. They're gonna have to fight, and it's a good idea to have his escape already clear. He sees Krauser's knife open a soldier from navel to sternum and starts running. Krauser's attracting all the attention, allowing him to get to both locks with minimal fighting. Quiet settles through the area as he finds the second. It feels almost unnatural after the harsh, constant gunfire and screaming. For a moment he just breathes, tasting metallic smoke and feeling the jangle of adrenaline start to fade. Heavy silence fills the air. And then an arm locks around his neck. Krauser's right there. The knife against Leon's throat is blood-hot. He grabs for Jack's wrist and tries to push away. It's like grabbing a steel cable. He's going to die because he was stupid and trusting. Ashley'll pay.

"Stay sharp." Krauser's voice in his ear is rough, and when he lets go, it's with a shove. Leon turns and looks. Blisters from the heat are scattered over his shirtless flesh. Angry red crawls up his neck, lies over half his face. Thick orange splatters run over his torso (all plaga blood: how'd he get through that without a scratch?) Kennedy sees through that, sees the expression under the burn and scars and blood and paint. And now? He knows why Krauser's helping him. It's bizarre. Maybe not quite welcome. In a way, he already knew.

His face must be showing something, because Krauser's expression takes on a hint of foreign vulnerability before he gets control and is just sneering again. "We've got to move. And dammit, Kennedy, check your six."

Leon rolls his eyes and leaps out the window. Krauser dives after him. He puts it all aside, draws his knife, and dodges the first attack.

The fight's good. They circle, attack without getting anywhere, break apart again. Krauser circles, speaking low. "Back up towards the door. When you reach the corner, I'm swinging three times and slicing high from the left." A quick exchange, ending with both of them having to dodge. "Kick for the chest, give it everything you've got. Then run. Don't look back."

"Agreed." Kennedy'd prefer to make the plan, but he'll still go with it. Krauser's not quite the good guy Kennedy knew. Leon knows he's gonna try to be, at least until they part ways again.


	6. Chapter 6

This fanfiction is written for no profit, without permission, and without laying claim to the intellectual property of Capcom. All characters are not my property.

13. Empty

Krauser circles, avoiding the body of a soldier. He and Kennedy are starting to stage a duel, and he's marshalling his strength. He's got to make it good without messing up and cutting Kennedy open. Pain's static crackling in his head, but he can ignore it. He thinks, "he's not gonna die yet."

He's left another razor slice on Kennedy's throat, right under the scab from last time he had him pinned. He doesn't think Kennedy's noticed it yet. It's still bleeding. He's a little disgusted with himself. After the doors unlocked and there was just silence, he knew something had been waiting and Leon was headless. Grabbing him had been really fucking stupid, though. He's still not sure why he did.

He's hurting. He knows he's really gonna hurt when this is over. He's almost grateful for the burn he got from the fuel. It's gonna be a distraction, gonna give him a reason to be pissed off when he's back with Wesker.

He attacks. Kennedy moves like he's a fish in water, totally at ease with fighting. His body is slender and looks light, but Krauser knows his solidity, knows how much power the man can put into a strike. What really gets Krauser, though, is that he's still got the edge in a knife fight. Everything's changed but that.

And then they're at the corner. He prays Leon really puts everything into it, because they're out in the open and there are no clouds. Wesker could be watching like he were right beside them, and he's not gonna be fooled by a halfhearted shove. Leon doesn't let him down. He ducks Krauser's sweep, pivots, and his boot catches Krauser right in the ribs high on the left side and knocks him clean on his ass. Now Krauser just gets to hope he's not looking back. He claps a hand over the spot, pops out the full-fledged arm, and leaps to his feet to hear the sound of a closing door.

Good. He has to follow through. He stumbles to the wall, leans on it, pushes off and staggers towards the door with one hand out. Big enough to show weakness, if Wesker's watching, make it look like he's really gonna have trouble catching up.

He's at the doors when his plaga shrieks something and writhes. Saddler's close by. He spins, looking back. Nothing. He puts his hand on the door, finds it locked, and realizes where the fascist freak is. Right in there with Leon.

The high from their fight evaporates. Leon's gonna die now.

He bangs futilely on the door. Then he gets a grip, backs up, and leaps for the roof. And—oh, thank God, that's Ada's voice inside—what in hell's wrong with him? Glad to hear Ada? And then there's gunfire and explosions and his plaga begging him not to enter the building.

Something heavy crashes against the window, blocking his entrance, and he kicks it out of the way. Ada bursts out, grabbing him as she passes and trying to take him along with her momentum. He cooperates, mostly to humor her. He gets a lot more serious about moving when a fucking huge tentacle punches out and dents the metal railing.

"Go," she says simply. "I'll lead him." She seems to have the calm of someone who's planned for this. Not how she'd be if Leon got hurt. He leaps up for the roof and ducks out of sight. He hears Saddler scrabbling out of the window. The building shakes as the old freak drops down a level. Krauser finds a window and is back indoors. Ada's doubtless got her escape route all lined up. He'll stay out of the way and let the woman work. He's got his own business to handle.

But Leon's face hangs in his head, and his brain colors it gray and blood-flecked like the faces of so many friends over so many years, and he has to see for himself.

14. Folding

I'm the President's daughter. No matter where I go, I remember that. It's been really helpful. Do wish I'd had a chance to bring my journal, because I've had a lot of time to just sit and think recently.

Leon's pretty beaten up. I'm not doing so great either. I'm really, really tired. I try not to say anything or whine. Leon never complains about taking hits for me. But, see, I've been on the run, and I just got hit with this massive dose of radiation and this big parasite thing in my body jerked around and dissolved, and I'm hurting.

Which is one of the reasons why I scream when my hulking barbaric kidnapper comes around the corner, looking like some freaky woad raider guy. Leon leaps to my side and starts to pull me back, but then he just relaxes. Oh, that's helpful. I scoot behind him a bit as he starts, "Krauser. What happened?"

"Saddler's moving away like he's after something. Don't know what." He nods at me. "See you two got together again. You okay?"

Stupid question. "Fine, except I'm here." I see Leon looking at me like he's just now noticed the shape I'm in. I change my tone for him. "I just need rest. I can do that once we get out."

"Does he know where your escape route is?" And suddenly I don't exist again. Gee, almost was getting spoiled for a moment there.

"I'm not sure." Leon shakes his head. "There's a couple ways into the water. Think he knows how we got here yet?"

"Maybe not, if you killed everyone in the area. There's a dock up ahead. You might find a spare boat."

"Um." I'm really, really tired of being the weak one, but my stomach feels kinda odd. "I need to sit down for a while."

"Here." Leon helps me to a barrel.

"I don't hear Saddler anywhere in the area," the big scarred guy says, which is a kinda odd thing to say. He's staring off at the wall. And then I quit trying to pay attention, because I feel sort of cold and shivery in my gut.

"Okay, I'm gonna be over here." I stagger towards the corner, getting just out of sight behind a small column, and throw up. Only I haven't eaten anything in ages. It's really, really nasty.

"New plan, Ashley." Leon rubs my back in small circles. Great, and I don't really want to be noticed now. "We hide. Rest for five minutes. Then if you're not better, I'll carry you out."

"Yeah." I follow him, because I can still walk, back into a small storage room and curl up behind the crates. Leon moves the boxes into a bit more of a nest and then they move away a bit to give me privacy.

15. Reshuffle

"You hurt?" It's a stupid question; Leon's moving stiffly and there's dried blood in several places on his shirt. But Krauser has to ask. He keeps his voice low, although Ashley lay down like she was almost out of it anyway.

"Not bad."

This moment's gonna be gone at just about any time now. His plaga's tense and waiting, listening with all its little wormy heart to see if it can hear Saddler coming. And Leon's only partly with him, worried about Graham, of course. They're resting for the moment on a bench opposite the door, backs to the wall. They're both braced to jump back up. Leon's turned to be able to see out the window.

It's nice to just have the time to breathe, and listen to Leon breathing. Know his back's covered. He just feels the seconds tick by and wishes the world had a pause button.

And then the moment gets a little—okay, a lot—more uncertain, because Leon's just shifted and his back is against Krauser's arm. Great. He thinks he's leaning against a support beam in the wall. Won't be long before he realizes the "wall" is pretty warm and this'll get awkward. Leon might just ignore it, but considering the day they've all had, he could flip his shit. Krauser isn't sure which, but is way too tired to push it. Give him a chance to realize and just move away.

A minute and a half left until he goes and sees where Saddler ended up, and then it's sample-getting free-for-all time. Ada knows what she's doing. Probably leading Saddler into a minefield.

Kennedy's head turns. Krauser had been planning on being busy staring at the far wall about now, but he can't help but meet his eyes. This close, Kennedy's impossible not to look at; it's a miracle he's gotten through all he has and still looks confident and unbroken and unscarred. Like heroism is some sort of magic cape that keeps you safe while you're doing the right thing, only Krauser's never been dumb enough to buy that. He wonders what Kennedy's seeing, because those eyes are unreadable. A waste of skill? A burned-out friend with a burned face? He sits there with his mouth open like an oversized idiot, waiting for Leon to shove off.

And then there's a hand in his hair, gentle but totally undeniable, and Kennedy's in close. They're lip to lip, and he's got to accept that as real, and he tastes Kennedy's warmth, salty and weary. They're both battered but still alive. It's overwhelming. It's been coming, yeah, but he never thought he'd get it. His burned lips sting, but a little pain's always been fine by him. He drops a hand over Leon's--as if this careful kiss wasn't girly enough--and he feels like he's found something that's been lost for a long time. That reminds him he'll just lose it again soon and never get it back. Too much. He puts a hand to Leon's neck, trying to ignore the finger-shaped bruises there, and pulls away. They both look to the door first to be sure it's still safe.

"Gonna go look around." He can't look at him any more. Leon's flushed up all pretty, either with uncertainty or embarassment or anger or—Krauser really needs to stop thinking about this. And quit thinking he's pretty, dammit. He heads for the door. Behind him, he hears Leon crossing to Ashley's shelter.

Out in the hall, he just keeps moving. He always knew who he was, but military life required never saying much about that, so he just played it solo and didn't get involved with anyone. Would have been an even better idea one minute ago, considering he's with a completely government-nonsanctioned organization and Leon's practically Secret Service.

He doesn't even bother telling himself it'll never work, because he knows they won't both make it out. And, okay, he just doesn't want to hear it right now.

16. Fold.

That had been stupid.

Seeing Krauser like that, hurting from what he'd done to help, and looking so unsure, and not moving away. . . it had just grabbed him on a level he hadn't expected. He'd learned his lesson about not doing something when he had the chance.

Okay, it had been a calculated move at first, seeing if Krauser knew what was up in his own head. It was just a little – well – he'd been straight for years, right? Maybe a little bent, but still, straight. That had been jumping without looking.

He mentally slapped himself. It wasn't like he'd sworn devotion. This wasn't getting Ashley home. He checked on her. Well, she wasn't going to be any more active in three minutes. Might as well go now.

"Come on," he said. "I'll carry you."

17. Tapout.

He reaches a place on the cliff face where there's a ravine, looks across the way, and sees a slim shape vaulting up through the air. Can only be Ada. He changes direction to meet with her. He pauses once to check her progress, and sees a deformed, flapping shape ascending the cliff after her, leg by leg.

Fuuuuuck. She didn't lose him and she's getting backed into a corner. Krauser leaps up to the cliff path and really starts running. He'll never like Ada. He'll waste no time remembering her once she's gone. But she kept Leon alive while he didn't care. He owes her.

He comes up to the working platform. Saddler's got Ada backed up under an overhanging metal shelf, with no way for her to flip out of reach. Trying to distract him, he fires low, aiming for Saddler's knees.

Wait a minute. He's just an asshole trying to play the hero.

That thought takes no time at all to percolate through his brain, so he's not even surprised when something slams into the small of his back. He's sure his spine's snapped. He is surprised when he has the chance and ability to get up. His plaga's begging to defend his vulnerable abdomen, and he lets it burst out as he cradles his TMP and looks for Saddler.

Saddler's approaching, all smiles. But long, snaky gray tentacles curl from his sleeves. "Krauser. I never thought you'd come forward." One swing and Krauser's bouncing off the wall. He lands stunned, hauling his arm back in too slowly to protect himself—goddammit! He's gonna get killed by a fascist! Oh, this is just too much. He bares his teeth and readies the knife in futile defiance.

Ada whips in fast and hard and lets Saddler have it right in the back with a shotgun. But Saddler rocks forward and just takes it, not even moving his feet, and slams one arm down onto Krauser's head. He sees the blur of Saddler start to turn, but then everything's too blurry to tell and he's out.

When the black retreats, he's got dirt in his teeth, and Ada's a long red line hanging in the air. Probably by her neck. And that's Kennedy's voice. Krauser's own personal hero, showing up right before the battered failure is finished off. Fucking humiliating. He rolls up to his feet, not willing to admit he's done, and then his ribs grate against each other and he's back down fast. He loses track of everything for a moment. When he can see again, he looks down. His side's torn up. He sees jagged white in with the orange and red. Dark orange blood is starting to pool under him.

"Move to the north platform and climb down," says Ada from above him, as he's blinking to shrink the black spots. Her heels clack rapidly away.

"Aren't you dead?" he asks. It's not worth the pain or feeling stupid, but at least his lungs still work. What in hell's going on? He pushes himself up one side at a time and looks around. That's Leon, fighting Saddler, and that's Saddler going down in a mass of limbs but not beaten, and that's Ada running madly across a catwalk, and that sudden explosion of pain is a stunned nerve bundle waking back up. It's just gonna get worse, and he's got to stop the bleeding. He moves, and it looks like miles to the stairs.

Not only has he just saved Jack's ass, Kennedy'd been the one with the stones to actually make a move. Christ.

He doesn't need help climbing in the chopper. He does need morphine, and he gets it.

18. Hand.

He's cleaning his blade, trying to get all the gunk off it. His hand closes on the blade and it's thick and dull. How'd that happen? He opens his eyes to find his grip tight on the side of the cot. There's the steady sound of a motor, and he's floating. It's really nice. Oh yeah. Chopper. And morphine.

"Wong," he says.

"Right here." She moves within his line of sight.

"So he's dead." It doesn't hurt yet. Everything's too unreal.

"Yes."

"Graham too?" he says, through the sinking feeling even morphine can't lift.

"Oh, you meant Leon? Saddler didn't get him." She sounds surprised, and glances towards the chopper pilot. "He may have had time to get out. He was running for Graham last I saw."

It's a massive upheaval in the way he knows things work. He blinks at her until she nods, and then he just puts it aside to wonder at later. "Did we finish the objective?"

"Got my sample right here." She holds it up, smiling at it, and her fingernails click on the case for the others. He doesn't miss the possessive, even drugged.

"Fine. Chair's mine, though." He shifts, hears the papers crackle in his pocket. He found the machine after the duo was done with it, printed out the specs and photographed it and took the files off the nearby computers. If there's another outbreak, Umbrella won't be so afraid of loss. "Wesker know?"

"He's waiting for our reports." There's a clear note of warning in her voice, and he knows better than to risk saying anything right now, when he's feeling giddy and light and everything's open for sharing. Morphine is good stuff.

He breathes for a moment, noticing the taste of medication and blood as he wakes up a little more. Hey, Kennedy lived. He thinks of Kennedy's surprisingly soft mouth. It's the first really good memory in. . . he doesn't know how long. A wave of exhaustion rolls up around him. "You're going to hate me."

"Why do you say that?" She sounds more curious than concerned. But he's under again before he can answer.

19. Winning

Leon understands why she did it. Ada had her mission, and he's got his. Sure, the aiming at the back of his head was an unpopular move. And the smirking? Bit much. He pats the jetski that she gave him. She'd walked away from him. Walked back into the arms of Umbrella, but at least this time round she'd left his life uninjured.

She'd helped him and used him at once, and he isn't sure where one ends and the other begins. Now he doubts she was hoping they could still find something, sometime. He lets go of that dream just a bit more.

Ashley's weight is settled warm against his back. She looks better now that they're out in the sun, but he's glad they're headed for doctors. He squints in the glare. It's kinda pretty out here, but nowhere near as nice as a dinner plate or a bed will be.

Krauser'd never reappeared after leaving the small side room. The man's possibly dead. Leon hasn't looked back at the smoking island. He can't; it's way too complicated. Images flick through his mind: that knife at his neck, the surge of adrenaline at seeing Jack killing soldiers, the permanent chance of attack. The "hooray, we're going to die in five" lip. . . thing.

Yeah. It's way too complicated. He opens up the throttle on the jetski. Ashley's arms tighten briefly. He just hopes that, whatever's happened to him, Jack's at peace.

Hey. . . "I don't hear Saddler?" What had Jack meant by that one?


End file.
